


A Few New Things.

by quondam



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quondam/pseuds/quondam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus catches Shepard touching herself and fears it's not him she's thinking of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Few New Things.

By time Garrus makes it up to Shepard’s cabin, the guilt has set in. It’s late, the ship is silent save for a few sleepy-eyed crew members at their stations on the overnight shift, and he’d promised to stop by Shepard’s quarters hours ago. The elevator rises and he forms his list of excuses: a last minute conversation gone far too long with Victus, the ever-tiresome calibrations, maybe a search on the extranet for any news of his family. He feels too guilty at that last one, though. Using his possibly-dead father and sister for such a reason almost seems like he’s giving the universe a reason to revoke any kind of measures of hope that they’re still among the living.

The truth is it was a mix of all those things and something else, like the nervous butterflies that swam in his stomach after Shepard had last stopped by the Main Battery. She’d kissed him then, mentioned that she hadn’t forgotten what they had, and encouraged him on a trip to her cabin. Spirits, he’d nearly fainted at the implication, and he was loathe to admit that Garrus Vakarian, vigilante, Omega-4 survivor, ex-C-sec officer, and once lover of a human, was actually nervous at the prospect of being with her again. He’d thought of her while they were apart, pleasured himself with his hand in the barracks on Menae, even in his father’s house on Palaven, thinking of Shepard. There’d been vids he’d watched, things he’d read—all in the name of research, of course—about furthering pleasing a human female lover, a quiet kept dream that when—or perhaps, if was a better word—he saw her again, he would have the prowess to trump even the best of her past conquests.

Now though, Garrus feels the shyness in his veins despite the both comfortable and uncomfortable sensation of his plates loosening in the groin of his armor. The elevator doors open and he steps into the entranceway, shuts his eyes and breathes a soothing, calming breath, and hits the open door button to her cabin. It’s unlocked.

The first thing he’s aware of is that Shepard, unlike all the times in the past, isn’t shouting out a casual greeting to him. The second thing his senses alert him to is that there’s a soft, throaty sound from the interior of her private quarters, and it’s erratic enough for him to understand that it isn’t music, not belonging to any species he’s heard, at least. There’s no rhythm to it, no beat, not even a syncopation. It’s chaos. And then, all too fast, Garrus realizes he’s heard it before, a faint recollection of it hanging on the fringes of his memory. That’s… that’s Shepard.

Garrus doesn’t step into the cabin anymore, rather he goes for cover on the wall between her quarters and the hallway, folds his hand over a portion of the open door so that the sensors keep it open. He shuts his eyes, heart beat thrumming in his chest like a drum, steadily increasing, galloping as he listens with much more care. There’s an Oh and an Ohhh. There’s a heavy exhale of breath, an Uh! And if he can focus past the sound of his pulse he can hear an even quieter sound, a wet sound, like fingers rubbing at… Spirits, the crotch of his armor feels suffocating now.

The thoughts of excuses and his reasons for not coming when he’d promised are out of his mind, and he supposes he can blame evolution for the fact that he can think of nothing else but the melody of a woman well into pushing herself to a climax. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it or not, but Garrus swears he can even catch the subtle scent of her arousal, and immediately he plummets back into the memory of their time together months ago.

He should go, he thinks, let her have her privacy, but he’s rooted to the spot, listening, dreaming, praying to his Spirits he doesn’t get caught. That fear doesn’t keep him still, though, and Garrus cranes his neck like he’s checking for Geth or husks around cover, only this time he’s desperately wishing for a glimpse of Shepard. She’s easily spotted, partially unobstructed, although some of her is filtered through the glass of the display cabinet above her desk. It’s no matter though, it’ll do.

Shepard’s undressed save for her underwear, a hand tucked away inside them, the other grabbing at a small breast. He may not be able to see what’s happening under the black fabric, but he can imagine, and he wonders how the hair down there is fairing. Though he’s never discussed it with her outright, what he’s seen in the vids has told him it varies greatly from woman to woman, something easily changed depending on the mood. She’d had some there before, trimmed short but enough to run his fingers over, feel the tickling of it against his skin, and curiosity grows inside him, hoping one day to experience it all, from the thicker and natural type, to even getting to see it completely bare.

She moans again and he watches as she pinches a nipple between her thumb and forefinger, then tugs the weight of her breast upwards before releasing. Mentally, he’s taking notes. Her other hand moves with increasing speed and Shepard pushes her breast up towards her mouth despite it’s small size. Her neck cranes forward, tongue slipping out to roll over the hard nipple, and she kisses it as she struggles. It’s a fight to get it to her own mouth but she does successfully for half a moment, suckling on it, thigh twitching. Garrus’ mouth plates move, trying to imitate the action but he can’t, won’t ever be able to, and a stray thought comes to mind. Who is she thinking of?

Oh, and that hurts. For all the hormones coursing through his veins, for as hard as he is—and he can feel his erection straining, fighting to get out, but being hampered by his armor—Garrus is brought back to the harsh reality of all the differences they share. He can’t watch anymore of it, pulls his head back and leans against the wall, out of sight of her, and now her vocals feel like torture to him.

Is it Kaidan? Someone else? An unknown man with an unknown face? Someone, anyone else? It eats away at him and he stares across at the elevator doors, body at war with itself. Half of him tells him to leave, to avoid the painful embarrassment and defeat of knowing the woman he pined over for months spends her nights getting herself off with another man—something closer to home—in mind. The other half reminds him of the feel of her mouth to his, the lower, sultry tone of voice she’d used earlier when she’d mentioned he visit her in his cabin. 

He’s stuck in that thought so much that he isn’t sure how much time he’s wasted, only that the next thing he really hears is Shepard moaning louder than before, crying out. Spirits, she’s coming. And Garrus isn’t a fool, he has to look at that.

She’s spent, legs open wide as she slides her hand out from her briefs, and he can see the trail of moisture they leave on her lower stomach. They reach her mouth and Shepard takes a war glance at them held out before her. She rubs her thumb across the pads of the other ones, like she’s Mordin, a scientist testing the curious consistency, contemplating a hypothesis. And suddenly, she just goes for it, Shepard hesitantly draws her hand to her mouth, touching fingertips to her tongue, just barely at first. Apparently pleased, she becomes more adventurous, slides them inside her mouth, and starts sucking, licking them clean. Garrus is green with envy, and once again he wishes for a proper human mouth, wishes that he was tasting her. That had been a big regret of his—that he’d never actually gotten to do that himself.

Surely, he thinks, she must be done, but Shepard continues to massage a breast, this time more gently, languidly, watching the ceiling. The stars, he knows. She’s like that for awhile, then stills completely, considers herself, and both of her hands meet at her hips, quickly pushing her panties off. Oh, oh, oh. He stares at the thicker grown red hair, duller in color than what’s on her head, but no doubt belonging to the Commander.

Shepard rolls to the side of the bed, stands and heads to the desk in her bedroom. He watches through the display glass, can’t see her as she bends over, but she rights herself quick enough, a box in her hands as she heads back. Atop wrinkled blankets, Shepard sits, opening one end of the mystery box, its outside coated only in nondescript and discreet black coloring. She pulls something out in a hinged container and opens it. Shepard stares at whatever it is, chews her lip questioningly, and like she approached her hand a minute before—she smiles and goes for it, pulling the item from the box.

Garrus tries to get a good look at whatever it is, but between the disturbance of the display cabinet and Shepard’s own body, he’s not quite sure on the details. There’s a glimpse of it every now and then, what parts of it Shepard’s hands aren’t wrapped around, and though he has a hunch… he remains unconvinced. That is, until Shepard crawls further up onto the bed with it, her back to him as she kneels, object hidden from view. He hears the click of a button, then the almost imperceptible thrum of something turning on. Shepard laughs, the kind of giggle born out of delighted anticipation and surprise.

Yes. It’s exactly what he thinks it is.

One of her hands moves back around her front, and though he can’t see what she does, he can make a good guess. Fingers rub at her cunt again, head tilting back as she shakes her hair, a quiet moan delivered. The other hand drops down as well, the object in question with it, and both her arms and shoulders work in unison. He can see the base of the faux-cock in the window between her thighs as she rubs the upper portions against herself. It’s blue in color with a base on which it sits. From this far, he can’t make out much, but there’s a line of a ridge, and his stomach sinks as he perceives it to be the swollen veins of a human male’s cock—with the amount of research he’s done, he’s become well-versed in not only females, but the males, of her species as well.

Shepard positions it between her legs, holding it steady, and then rises on her knees just barely, and slowly…very slowly, sinks down on the phallus. She hums in complete satisfaction, the muscles in her back and the curl of her toes a testament to the pleasure she feels.

He swallows, and he finds his throat suddenly and abnormally dry. Despite his hang-ups, they’d managed to find a good balance between their species last time, hadn’t they? Shepard had come and so had he, and she’d even sung his praises afterward, stroking his mandible while her toes simultaneously brushed along his spur. Hell, he’d even seen the rosy hue to her cheeks, the squint to her eyes, even the softness to her voice, all signs that he’d done his job, and done it well. But, he ponders, could it have been better? Was she settling for a friend, someone nearby just to scratch her back because there was no human of interest nearby? If Alenko hadn’t burned her so hard on Horizon, would Kaidan have been the one in her bed again?

Shepard rises up and down on the dildo, one hand holding it onto the bed. Every push into her, she releases a moan. Louder and louder.

Is she thinking about the other man right now?

Well, he sighs, it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought this was coming. What he’s alarmed by is how much it hurts to hear her audible sounds of ecstasy and to know that he’s not the one causing them, or at the very least, the one she’s thinking of.

She sinks back down onto the cock, swallowing it save for the base, and shifts forward. Shepard presses her chest down into the bed, face resting sideways on a pillow, one hand gripping into the white fabric. Her ass is the highest point of her body now, still on her knees, and Shepard reaches between her legs to grasp at the dildo. She flicks that switch from earlier on and immediately cries out, an obvious over saturation of sensations.  
Garrus’ guilt returns , and this time it isn’t for being late, it’s because he knows now she doesn’t belong to him. His body may not want to, but his conscience insists otherwise, and Garrus ducks back into complete cover. Quietly, he readies himself for near silent footsteps back towards the elevator doors, and just as he’s about to lift that hand from the doorway—the one that’s kept her cabin doors open the entire time—he doesn’t just hear her pants and moans, and that admittedly delicious slurping sound of the toy disappearing back into her with each push of her hand.

“Garrus!” Shepard calls, the syllables of his name lost in each cry. “Please, Garrus,” she pleads. “Harder.”

Any thoughts of leaving are immediately gone. This… well. This is a game changer.

She’s having a one-sided conversation with herself, and Garrus can imagine what he’d say in the empty lulls.

“Fuck,” she moans.

He peers around the edge of the doorway again, and she’s going at it harder, fucking herself in earnest with the toy, body rocking in time for effect. She comes to a stop, and he can sense the subtle shifts in her outer body that tells him she’s clenching the toy inside. Her fingers slip away from holding it in, and a few more seconds of testing the strength of her inner walls against the toy, and the cock begins to work itself out because of the pressure. It slips out of her entirely, damp toy soaking into the bed. For a second he can’t look away from her cunt, pink and red and dripping with her own fluid, entrance quivering as she flexes and squeezes at nothing. Shepard reaches for the toy again, and this is the first time he sees it in all its glory.

Where he’d imagined a vein is actually a more distinct cut line of a ridge, a shape he knows quite well because it’s part of his cock. Or a Turian one in general, that is. From the base, the phallus  swells into its widest, slightly bulbous part. Upwards, it gradually slims, sloping down to the tip where it’s more pointed, though still relatively thick. The head has a shallow flare to it on the sides, and at the right angle, he even sees the dip of an imitation of the small hole where either urine or cum would be expelled from. It’s an impressive item, and though the blue color of it it is obviously for design only, he can’t help but smile at the thought that perhaps Shepard purchased it with the intent of matching as close as possible to the dark-lapis hue his cock achieves when fully erect and blood swollen. He does, though, have to admit he’s envious of the way the thing moves, rotating slightly at the base, so it sweeps at her insides.

Shepard prods her entrance with the tip of the toy again, bites at her lip as she does. “Fuck me, Garrus,” she begs no one, and pushes the toy in an inch more. Her orders repeat and she tries again, again, again, until it’s seated in her fully and she resumes her actions, pushing downward at it, and hard, trying to force it’s attention on the upper wall of her canal.

“Jesus,” she cries, knuckles going white as fingers dig into the pillow. Her toes begin to curl inward again, rump dropping lower as she settles more on her knees, arm clearly straining in the position. “Don’t stop, Garrus!” The movement of the toy in and out of her is chaotic, that graceful thrusting motion gone and instead replaced with unadulterated force and speed, cock slamming into her as she’s on the brink. Every so often there’s a choked moan of his name, a Garrus swallowed down to be replaced by an instinctive, animalistic moan. One last time she slams the phallus into her, and Shepard’s body tightens, hand holding it in as the rest of her contorts. Her mouth opens, hanging wide, brows pushed together, and then she’s turning her head into the pillow, crying, nearly screaming into her mattress and hoping it dulls the sound. 

She shatters, and it’s beautiful, incredibly beautiful, even as she relaxes into the bed to ride out the orgasm. Her legs slide out so the whole of her is flat against the bed and she moves her hips almost like a male partner would, humping lazily at the mattress, her hand fallen between her body and the bed to rub at her clit as the last seconds of the climax fade away. Shepard eventually stops and her body is a human puddle, loose and limp, even still with the dildo inside her, base barely visible from between her thighs. She breathes heavily and as her face turns back onto it’s side, she’s smiling, eyes shut.

Garrus doesn’t know how he hasn’t come inside his armor yet.

“How long are you going to watch?” Shepard says, and Garrus almost files it away as more of her dirty talk. He lurches, breath caught in his lungs, skin superheated.

“Because,” she chastises, “I’m not sure I’ve got another one in me… at least on my own.”

Still, he says nothing, like she’ll believe she’s imagined it if he’s quiet enough.

“Stop hiding, Garrus,” she speaks, this time louder, sterner, and rolls onto her back.

When Garrus looks at her again, she’s watching him, a hand touching at the wet thatch of hair between her thighs, the other arm draped above her head.

“Did you like it, at least?”

He coughs, stands up straight, his legs wobbling a little as he moves to stand fully in the open doorway. Garrus finally, after all this time, steps in to her cabin. The doors shut behind him.

“If you knew I was here…”

“I had EDI alert me when you were on your way,” she supplies to answer the unspoken question. “Besides, you know those doors are loud as fuck, Garrus.”

“You wanted me to watch?”

Shepard nods her head shallowly from where she lies. Her fingers are playing in the short red hair at her scalp, pushing through the strands. He knows she’s doing this on purpose, knows how much he’s fascinated by that human trait. “Well, actually, I planned on using you. But someone left me high and dry for the last four hours. I don’t think I have to explain to you how it feels to just wait, knowing you’ve got the urge and can’t do anything about it. So when I figured you weren’t showing, I had to do it myself. Then EDI said you were on your way—”

“I got it,” his hands raised in surrender.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What?”

“Did you like it?”

What kind of question was it? A trick? Of course he liked it. What blue-blooded Turian wouldn’t have found such a sight to be incredibly… stimulating? Garrus makes his way down the stairs to her bedroom, stops as his knees hit the edge of her bed. He looks down at her and Shepard is wearing a teasing smile, one that grows as she drops her legs open wide so he can get a frontal view of her pussy, of the toy still stretching her wide.

The view, however, doesn’t last long. Feet flat to the bed, knees up, she snaps her thighs together. “Now if you’ll excuse me… some of us have to be up early.”

“Not on your life,” he orders, and lays his hands on her knees, forces them apart. She puts up no resistance, just bites her lip yet again.

“What’s that, Vakarian?”

He purrs in reply and nods his head. “I’ve got a few new things to show you.”


End file.
